


wait

by Kit_Kat21



Series: Beatles Tribute [20]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Single Parent Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:46:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Kat21/pseuds/Kit_Kat21
Summary: “Sansa, where are you?” Bran asks. “Where’s Brandon?”“He’s hiding. He thinks… it’s a game. And I… I’m hiding, too. Please stay on the phone with me.”“I’m not going anywhere,” Bran tells her firmly and Sansa exhales a shaky breath. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and down her neck.





	wait

…

 

_“Hidden deep inside the jungle,_

_There’s hippos! There’s hippos!”_

Sansa smiles, almost laughing, as Brandon sings the song to _Hubba Bubba Hotel_ , which to a two-year-old, is really just shouting off key, but Sansa loves it nonetheless.

 

“Can you take the sheet off that for me, sweetling?” She asks, handing him one of her pillows from the bed.

 

Brandon nods eagerly and taking the pillow, that occupies him for a minute, trying to take the sheet off of it as Sansa strips the rest of the bed. Today, she’ll wash the bedding from both of their beds and the towels and tomorrow, during their Sunday pajama day, she’ll wash their clothes.  

 

Since moving into this little house, she and Brandon on their own, Sansa has loved coming up with their own routine; a routine that’s just _theirs_. And on Saturdays, they clean their little house and run errands if they need to be run and sometimes, they go back to her parents’ house for a few hours for dinner and a visit. And then Sundays – glorious Sundays – are their pajama days where they putter around the house, watching movies and television shows and playing together and just being together; just the two of them.

 

Weekends in their little house have become Sansa’s favorite thing in this world; just her and her baby boy.

 

“Good job, sweetling,” Sansa beams at Brandon now when he holds up the pillow case above his head and he laughs, bouncing on his toes. “Want to put it in the washing machine for me?” She then asks and laughs when Brandon promptly turns and runs from the bedroom. Sansa gathers the other bedding and follows him out into the hallway where their washer and dryer unit are in the hall closet.

 

Sansa knows they have _just_ moved into this house and Sansa imagines living here for the rest of her life, but maybe – _maybe_ \- if she ever does move again, for whatever reason, the next house will have an actual laundry room. Having her own washer and dryer – whether that be in a closet or not – is pretty fantastic though; she being able to wash hers and her son’s clothes and towels whenever she needs to is fantastic. She loves her mom more than any word in existence, but whenever she was doing a load in the washer or drying it in the dryer, Catelyn would always ask Sansa what it was.

 

At the open closet doors, Brandon is standing on his tip-toes, trying to open the lid of the washing machine, and Sansa smiles, coming up behind him and flipping it open for him. She doesn’t dare take the pillowcase from him though and lets him drop it in himself. And when he does, he gives her the proudest smile. Sansa smiles, too, and after she drops the other bedding in, she puts her hands on Brandon’s cheeks and bends down, giving him a kiss on his head.

 

“You are the best helper I could ever ask for,” she tells him and if possible, his smile grows even bigger.

 

But just as Sansa grabs one of the detergent pods from the container on the shelf, the doorbell rings, it heavily echoing throughout the entire house. Sansa jumps, dropping the pod, and Lady begins to bark from the living room.

 

For a moment, Sansa can’t move. For a moment, she absolutely freezes.

 

Who could that be? It’s Saturday – late morning. It shouldn’t be anyone. Her family knows to always call before they come by. They all know to never just drop by. There are so many things that scare Sansa, she knows, and the doorbell ringing unexpectedly is one of those things.

 

No, it wouldn’t be her family. And if It’s not her family, who else would it be?

 

Sansa knows who else it could be.

 

She looks down to Brandon, who’s looking up at her, his smile gone because he can read his mama. He’s too young to understand, but all he knows is his mama is scared.

 

Sansa feels her knees shaking as she lowers herself in front of Brandon, doing her best to give him a smile.

 

“Do you remember that game I was telling you about, sweetling?” Sansa asks as the doorbell rings again and she holds onto Brandon’s hands, giving them a squeeze.

 

Brandon nods his head quickly. “I ‘member, mama.”

 

“Would you like to play it now?” Sansa asks and Brandon nods his head faster. Sansa tries to smile even if all she wants to do right now is break down in tears. “Remember. Go hide under my bed and be as quiet as you can, no matter what you might hear. Can you be quiet?”

 

“I can, mama,” he promises her.

 

Sansa tugs him into her arms, hugging him tightly – _too_ tightly, but she can’t stop herself. She finally pulls back with a sniffle and again, does her best to smile.

 

“Go on, sweetling. Under my bed,” she tells him and Brandon gives her a smile before he turns, scampering away into her bedroom.

 

Sansa remains on her knees and crawls towards the kitchen, rather than the living room. Her heart is pounding – she’s aware of the thudding in her ears – and she tries to remember how to breathe, but for breathing being so natural, Sansa feels as if how to do it has actually fled her mind.

 

It’s Ramsay. It has to be. Who else would it be on a late Saturday morning? Ramsay has somehow found her. And Brandon. He doesn’t know about Brandon, but he’s found him now, too.

 

She doesn’t know what to do. The alarm is set – the alarm is always set – so Ramsay won’t be able to get in without the alarm going off, and Ned has made sure that if the alarm is tripped, it goes directly to the police station. But how long would it take for the police to get here? If it was even a minute, that might be all Ramsay would need to finally kill her. Just a minute. And Brandon…

 

She knows he would be quiet. She doesn’t doubt that her son will keep hiding and keep quiet. Maybe Ramsay won’t find him. Sansa has pictures of Brandon in the living room. If Ramsay breaks the glass of the windows to get inside, he’ll see the pictures and he’ll know.

 

Sansa doesn’t know what to do. Her mind has gone completely blank. She always thought that she would have a plan if Ramsay found her. She would grab Brandon and she would run. Easy as that. But now, faced with the actual scenario of Ramsay finding her, that plan won’t work. The car isn’t parked in her garage right now. It’s in the driveway. Sansa almost begins crying from that mistake.

 

Still crawling, she enters the living room and grabs her cell phone where she left it on the bookcase. Lady is standing at the front window, her head between the white lace curtains, staring at whoever is outside. Her fingers are trembling so bad, Sansa can hardly unlock her phone, but she finally manages and she isn’t even paying attention to where her fingers tap. Her most recent calls come to the screen and she sees her brother’s name. She hits it without hesitation and crawls towards the window.

 

“Hi, Sansa,” Bran greets her and she can hear that he’s in the middle of eating something.

 

“Bran,” she whispers, almost choking on her tears.

 

“Sansa, what is it?” Bran is immediately at attention.

 

“Someone… the doorbell… it’s Ramsay,” the words come out, stuttered, Sansa still trying to breathe.

 

“Sansa, where are you?” Bran asks. “Where’s Brandon?”

 

“He’s hiding. He thinks… it’s a game. And I… I’m hiding, too. Please stay on the phone with me.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bran tells her firmly and Sansa exhales a shaky breath. Tears are streaming down her cheeks and down her neck.

 

She can hear Bran breathing from over the phone and somehow, just knowing that she’s not completely alone, it helps Sansa. Crawling towards Lady, she takes a deep breath – finally able to and it is just a way to prepare herself – before peeking through the lace.

 

“Who is it? It’s not Ramsay, Sansa,” Bran whispers and even in a whisper, he sounds so confident in already knowing that somehow.

 

“No… it’s not…”

 

Sansa watches the young girl head down her driveway, holding a cardboard carrying case in her hand. It is a girl, selling chocolate bars for something. And when Sansa sees her walking away, she nearly collapses; exhausted and her chest burning. She clings to Lady, crying into her fur, not knowing what else to do.

 

“I’m coming over,” Bran informs her sternly and then the call is silent as Bran ends it. He lives too far away, but that isn’t going to stop him and Sansa wants to cry all over again over her brother dropping everything and getting right into his car - for her. 

 

Sansa does her best to focus on her breathing. She’s still clinging to Lady and Lady, the good dog she is, sits perfect and still and lets Sansa cry against her. This whole event has probably taken less than three minutes, but to Sansa, it's been a lifetime. 

 

“Not Ramsay. Not Ramsay.” She repeats this to herself over and over again.

 

Ramsay still hasn’t found her. It’s been three years. Maybe he’s not even looking for her. Has he truly let her go and doesn’t care that she got away?

 

No… he always said that he would kill her if she ever left him and with what he already did to her, Sansa had no doubt in the world that he meant it. Ramsay would _never_ give up looking for her. Just because it wasn’t him today, ringing her doorbell, doesn’t mean that it won’t be him one of these days.

 

Finally, when her tears stop and her breathing returns somewhat to normal, Sansa is able to pull herself away from Lady.

 

“Good girl,” she whispers to her faithful dog and Lady gives her a lick on her cheek in response.

 

Sansa considers it a miracle when she’s able to smile at that.

 

Finally feeling like she’s well enough to, Sansa gets up and goes into her bedroom.

 

“Sweetling?” She kneels down and looks under her bed. Sure enough, Brandon is there, his hands over his mouth so he stays as quiet as possible, and when his eyes meet hers, Sansa is able to smile. Brandon moves his hands away so she can see the smile he gives her back and then he wiggles out from under the bed.

 

“I did good, mama?” He asks.

 

“You did so, so good, Brandon,” Sansa says and her smile comes to her easier as she pulls him into her arms for a long, tight hug.

 

Sansa tries to remember the last time she felt safe. Truly safe. When she didn’t jump a foot and have a heart attack just from a little girl who’s selling candy bars and rings the doorbell.

 

It’s been too long to remember. It’s been years; years before, when lying in bed and watching a horror movie; letting out a cry at a cheap scare on the screen and him laughing at her.

 

She scowled at him for that. “Shut up and keep me safe,” she grumbled, nestling back against his chest.

 

Jon Snow squeezed his arms around her and kissed her head. “Always.”

 

…

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you! I have an idea for a George-focused one-shot planned as well as a baby Max one-shot. Thank you again to those reading and still enjoying this world!


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